At sight of the approaching Muskman, Kutnar shouted a glad “Hi-yo!” and
ran forward to meet him.
“You are too young to be traveling about alone,” said Gonch when the pair
came together.
The boy pouted. “Do not worry. I can take care of myself.” He now bore an
ax in addition to the sling and stone-pouch which he always carried. “I
have not been alone long,” he added. “Wulli was with me. He strayed off
somewhere, and I was just looking for him.”
“Wulli?”
“Yes, the Woolly Rhinoceros. That is the name we know him by. The Mammoth
is Hairi.”
“They both passed me some time ago,” said the Muskman. “They were
strolling side by side up the valley.” For obvious reasons he made no
mention of the slough and what had occurred there. The part he had played
had best be known to nobody but himself.
“Good,” said the boy, much relieved. “I heard squeals and thought that
one of them might be in trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Gonch assured him. “They seemed quite happy and
contented as they went away together. Strange why they should choose each
other for companions. Are the two such good friends?”
“The best of friends,” Kutnar replied. “They would fight and die for each
other. Any man or beast who attacks one of them has to fight both. It was
the Mammoth who first said, ‘Friends should ever help each other.’ He
says it and does it, too; so does the Rhinoceros.”
“Ugh!” Gonch began to feel hot and uncomfortable. It had suddenly
occurred to him that Pic would soon learn from his friend the Mammoth of
what had happened in the slough. He would not forget to tell of the man
who had attacked him when he was unable to defend himself. Soon the whole
valley would be in an uproar. Gonch shuddered as he thought of what Pic
would do to him, if ever he was caught.
“Your father is much interested in the Hairy Elephant,” said Gonch. “I
understand that he permits no one to hunt him. Would the latter go to him
if any man were bold enough to harm the beast?”
“Perhaps; perhaps not,” replied the youth. “He and Wulli are sometimes
queer about such matters. Like as not they would keep quiet and punish
the offender themselves. Wulli in particular is inclined that way.
However, you never can tell. Only this morning a rock, the Tilting Stone,
fell from the cliff and barely missed destroying both animals. I doubt
if my father yet knows of this.”
“And there would be only the rock to punish if he did know of it,” said
Gonch.
“Also him who pushed it down,” the boy added.
“How?” the Muskman was in a cold sweat. “Who pushed it down?”
“A hyena,” the lad replied. “At first I thought it was a man.”
Gonch gasped and wiped his forehead. “No, your father does not know of
this. I was with him on the Rock only a short time ago, and he made
no mention of it. Your father and I have grown to be very fond of one
another. Only this morning he was showing me how he made his flints.”
“How he finished them?” asked the lad in surprise.
“Yes, with the little tool. Do you know how it is done?”
“Of course, I do,” was the answer. “My father says that I am to become a
weapon maker, and so he has taught me how to do the work. Some day I will
do as well as he, so he says.”
“Um-m!” The Muskman’s eyes sparkled with a strange light. He had failed
miserably and was a fugitive from Pic’s wrath, but now—the possibilities
were unlimited. He might escape and succeed both.
“Wonderful boy,” he muttered. “And so you can make the fine blades with
the little finishing tool. How surprising. And now I am about to tell
you something. If you were not as good a friend of mine as I am yours, I
could not bring myself to say it.”
“Agh, but I am your good friend,” Kutnar answered quickly. “You should
tell me everything.”
“And you will not repeat what I say?” Gonch asked. “Your father and I
must be very careful. Some one might hear of it.”
“Hear of what?” the boy inquired, now beside himself with curiosity. “I
will be silent. Tell me.”
Gonch glanced about him. “Sh!” he said, lowering his voice and assuming
an air of deep mystery. “We southrons have a new and better way of
finishing the flints.”
“A better way?” the boy stared. “Impossible.”
“No, it is true,” Gonch declared impressively. “Your father agrees with
me that our method is the best. I am to get it and bring it to him.”
“Get what?”
“The new finishing tool; cannot you understand?” the Muskman grumbled.
“You see, I am grateful because you and your father have been very
good to me. I am to live the rest of my life here, helping with the
weapon-making. And now I must hurry away to get the finishing tool—the
wonderful tool that we make our fine blades with. I will be so lonely,
going away without you. That will hasten my return.” He embraced the boy
and lingered over him. His whole manner was charged with a pathos that
astonished even himself; but his affairs were nearing a crisis and the
present occasion called for the best he had in him. Then as he hesitated
with his heart-breaking farewell, hoping and praying for the fulfillment
of his wishes, his heart suddenly sank. Kutnar’s nostrils had caught
the offensive beast odor. He detached himself from the other’s arms and
turned away his head.
“Is my best friend offended by the smell of my panther and hyena
killing?” Gonch asked in a hurt voice. “Perhaps I did but a poor service
when once I saved you from death.”
On being thus reminded of his debt, Kutnar experienced a wave of remorse.
He clung tightly to his friend and buried his face in his chest. “Agh,
you did well,” he whispered earnestly. “What you have done for me makes
the odor sweet. I will not have you leave me alone. We will go together.”
“Would that it were possible. I would be so happy with you as my
companion. But, you see, I must hurry. I cannot wait while you prepare
yourself for the journey.”
The boy looked scornfully at the Muskman’s equipment, which consisted of
nothing but an ax. “I am as much prepared as you are,” he said. “We can
both go at once.”
Gonch yielded with seeming reluctance, and so they hurried off together,
Gonch chatting and pointing out various things of interest, to divert the
lad’s mind and prevent its turning too strongly to home and friends.
However, Kutnar needed no encouragement. This was his first long trip
away from home, but the thought of new adventures and things to see
filled him with delight and anticipation. Deep down within his heart was
a subdued feeling that he was playing the part of truant and that his
father and friends might not like his sudden leave-taking. But he had a
good friend with him, and his father would soon understand that the two
of them had gone away together, also why and where they had gone. He
wished that he might at least say good-by to the Mammoth and Rhinoceros;
but there was no time to do this or to see any one, so he put these
matters out of his mind and went his way.
The two traveled the balance of that day and far into the night, for
Gonch confided that he was anxious to reach his destination and return
before the cold weather set in. After a short rest, they were up with the
sun and away again.
Gonch was really anxious to get a good, long start; also he feared that
already he was being pursued. He had observed two animals—a large and a
smaller one—trailing far in his rear and suspected them to be the Mammoth
and Rhinoceros.
To throw them off the track, when he and Kutnar came to a river, instead
of swimming directly across, they waded down stream for some distance,
then landed and resumed the original direction of their journey.
If the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were really following, this ruse must have
succeeded; for although Gonch kept a sharp eye on his line of retreat,
he saw no more sign of pursuers. All fear of Pic and his friends now
vanished, and his thoughts turned to the southland and the Cavern of
Castillo.
X
The next morning found Pic squatting beside his fire before the grotto
of Moustier. He was engaged in his usual occupation—weapon-making. It
had been over twenty-four hours since he last saw Kutnar, but this gave
him no particular cause for worry. The boy went to and fro, spending as
much of his time in the valley as he did upon the Rock. He had been known
to have absented himself from home several days at a time. “I was even
more restless than he at his age,” chuckled Pic. “Probably he is off on
some lark,” and so he went on with his flint-working. His entire day was
spent alone and the night, too. Nothing to worry about seriously, but
when morning came and the boy was still absent, Pic began to feel not
altogether at his ease.
He endeavored to resume his work, but, finding that he was striking the
flint-flakes everywhere but the right place, he put aside his hammerstone
and armed with a flint-ax, descended into the valley.
Here he was met by a party of Mousterian hunters. All welcomed him and
showed no small surprise, for rarely did he take part in their activities
unless something unusual was afoot. To his question, “The boy Kutnar;
where is he?” none could give a satisfactory reply.
“He may have gone somewhere with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros,” one of the
hunters suggested.
“Yes, the three of them must be together,” Pic agreed. “The boy is
perfectly safe in the company of two such powerful animals,” and, feeling
much comforted, he returned to the Rock and resumed his work. And yet,
although inwardly rebuking himself for his needless concern, many times
that day he put aside his hammerstone and gazed up and down the valley.
When night came he retired later than was his custom, and his rest was
broken by many wakeful moments, at which times he would arise and seek
the cave-threshold, hoping that the boy had returned. Vain hope, for when
morning broke, Kutnar was still absent.
Pic strode to and fro upon the ledge, turning his head this way and
that like a caged lion. From his elevated position he could see up and
down the valley for many miles. The Mammoth, at least, could be seen
if he were anywhere near; but, strain his eyes as he would, Pic caught
not a single glimpse of the huge and familiar figure. He did no work
that morning, for his anxiety had greatly increased, and he made no
further effort to conceal it. “I fear that something is wrong,” he said.
“Otherwise Kutnar would have returned long before this.”
Once more he descended to the valley and sought news from his men, but
there was none to be had, and his worry thereby increased. The cave-men
were beginning to gather about by twos and threes, for word had already
passed that their chieftain was greatly concerned because of his son’s
continued absence. Soon a crowd of them had assembled, but not one man
had any information worth giving.
“He might be with the stranger,” suggested itself to Pic. “The two have
been much together.” This thought both angered and alarmed him. He
scowled as he asked, “Has any one seen Gonch?”
Nobody had seen him for several days. When last observed he was alone and
on his way somewhere down the valley.
“The bird has flown,” thought Pic much relieved. “For a moment I
thought—but no, the skulker would not have dared. He values his life too
highly;” but even though his fears as to Gonch were quieted, he felt it
time to set the machinery in motion for a systematic search.
The cave-men were divided into squads, which scattered in all directions,
up, down and across the valley, examining every nook and corner as they
went. Pic at the head of one of the squads hurried southwestward along
the river bank. Before dividing his men, he said: “The man Gonch is a
traitor. If you come upon him, kill him,” whereat all stared in surprise,
but hastened to do as bidden without asking questions.
Pic and his band hurried downstream along the right bank of the Vézère.
The giant flint-worker led the way, running in and out among the rocks
and bushes like a hound following a trail. He held his ax in readiness
to strike down man or beast as he led the way fearlessly past ledge and
thicket, from which hidden enemies might have sprung upon him. His voice
thundered commands, and all hastened to obey. The cave-men were amazed
by his fierce energy. He was a being transformed; this strange man, of
whom it had been said that he would neither hunt nor fight. They reached
the confluence of the Vézère and Dordogne rivers. Suddenly Pic uttered a
loud shout as two shaggy heads rose above the river bank. The Mammoth and
Rhinoceros were emerging from the water after a swim from the opposite
bank. They presented a woe-begone and exhausted appearance, as though
their entire night had been spent in traveling without food and rest.
As Pic ran forward to meet them, his followers halted at a respectful
distance. The two animals shook the river water out of their coats and
then told their story.
The Hyena Man, meaning Gonch, had fled, taking Kutnar with him. He had
a peculiar and unpleasant odor, which was fortunate, for it had enabled
them to follow his trail without much trouble. His scent was so strong
that they could not understand how they had lost it, but anyhow, after
crossing a river, they had been unable to find it again. A mean trick had
been played upon them, they were positive, but, not knowing just what to
do next, they had returned for assistance. Both were agreed that the
Hyena Man could no longer be trusted. He had tried to kill the Mammoth
when the latter was caught fast in the mud. The big elephant had a bump
on his forehead to show for it. He felt much aggrieved at such treatment
and intended to trample the Hyena Man to death if ever he caught him, but
the wretch had escaped, and, to make matters worse, he had taken Kutnar
along with him.
That was all, but quite enough. Pic was furious. He raged like a mad
bull. The cave-men crowded about him, shouting and brandishing their
weapons. But raging and shouting led to nothing; Pic soon realized that
much. Gonch had several days’ start; also he knew just where he was
going, which the others did not. He had anticipated pursuit by performing
the well-known water trick, thereby throwing the Mammoth and Rhinoceros
off his track. Pic became deadly calm. His men were of no use to him now.
He could kill Gonch without any one’s assistance, but the trouble was to
catch him. Speed was what he desired most. Without it, he could never
hope to overtake his enemy. Every moment of delay now counted against
him. He raised his hands in despair to the Mammoth. “Friends should ever
help each other,” he groaned in beast jargon. “Would that I were a bird
to fly or a deer to speed over the meadows like the rushing wind. How can
I hope to overtake the traitor and save my boy?”
[Illustration: “YOU MUST STAY BEHIND”]
As if in reply, the Mammoth raised his foreleg and stood at attention.
Pic’s despair changed to amazement, then understanding. Like a flash, he
sprang upon the beast’s uplifted limb and seized his ear. A moment later
and he was up and astride the great shaggy neck, sitting comfortably in
the depression between head and shoulder. The cave-men waved their axes
and shouted themselves hoarse: “Kill, kill! Death to the traitor!” and
then Pic raised his hand. All became quiet, listening to their leader’s
final instructions.
“You,” he said, pointing to a young giant seamed with battle-scars; “you
must command here, and death to him who disobeys you. I may be gone many
days. He who makes trouble in my absence will be food for the hyenas when
I return. Good-luck to you and farewell. I will not come back without the
boy.”
“Long live the Mammoth Man; death to Gonch,” howled the cave-men, waving
their axes on high. Obedient to a hand-pat from his rider, the Mammoth
wheeled and made for the river. Pic heard footsteps behind him. He looked
back and frowned as he saw the Woolly Rhinoceros following closely on his
partner’s heels.
“Not this time, good old friend,” he said. “You are too slow and will
only delay us. You must stay behind.”
Wulli stopped short. The words rang in his ears like the sound of his own
doom; but Pic had said them. He stopped obediently and stood, head cocked
on one side, a prey to his ponderous reflections. The Mammoth had by
this time entered the water, and still the Rhinoceros remained immovable
watching the unsubmerged portion of his friend sailing rapidly across the
stream.
So intent was he, so intent were the cave-men upon Pic and the Mammoth’s
departure, that none perceived a spectre in the background slinking
leisurely away. It was a big-eared beast with ghoul-grinning face and
slopping jaws. It had been an interested witness of all that had passed,
but none had seen or heard the foul beast of ill-omen, Crocut the
Bone-breaker and giant leader of the Cave Hyenas.